My Response to the Conviction of Derek Chauvin for the Murder of George Floyd
Opinion Piece
*Trigger Warning: Police brutality and racism; descriptive language relating to the death of George Floyd, a Black man, at the hands of police*
People celebrate outside of the Hennepin County Courthouse after Derek Chauvin was found guilty on all counts in the killing of George Floyd. Stephen Yang
In the days leading up to the final verdict of State of Minnesota v. Derek Michael Chauvin there was palpable tension in the air. Even from 4,000 miles away in my Amsterdam home (about 6.5 thousand km...I’m almost 8 months into my move to Europe but my brain still functions in the imperial), I could feel it. I was only reading headlines at the time - I’d taken a brief news hiatus and slowly resumed skimming during the trial - but each one was a reminder of the weight carried by this impending outcome.
“Throughout Trial Over George Floyd’s Death, Killings by Police Mount.”
“Defense focuses on George Floyd’s prior arrest and drug use.”
“Police Brutalize Protesters in Minneapolis as Chauvin Trial Moves Toward Verdict.”
“Defense expert blames George Floyd’s death on heart trouble.”
I feared the very realistic possibility that Chauvin might be acquitted. This led to anger at a system that rarely convicts, or even penalizes police officers when they take part in malpractice of any kind, specifically when BIPOC are involved. My anger shifted focus to the nature of this case. A case like this should be “open and shut.” A man was murdered without cause. What more could possibly be under deliberation? It was caught on video. It couldn’t have been more clear. Derek Chauvin held his knee on George Floyd’s neck while he gasped for breath and called out for his “momma.” How could there possibly be any debate over the cause of death?
Even in moments of hope that arose throughout - listening to George Floyd’s girlfriend, Courteney Ross, describe the kind of person he was and how they met; tearing up with Darnella Frazier, who filmed the video of Floyd’s murder that launched the protests last year, as she recounted apologizing to him night after night for not having done more to help; witnessing in disbelief as Chauvin’s former colleagues testified against him - I felt distrustful and resentful.
I would begin to believe that these testimonies might move the jury, sway them to make the right decision, and then I’d remember the many ways in which the U.S. criminal justice system lacks justice; a system which claims innocence until proven guilty, but only if you’re a white male; a system that has allowed murderers and rapists to go free when there isn’t “sufficient evidence” while Black folx spend years in prison over small amounts of marijuana; a system that rarely convicts its own because to admit that those who are supposed to protect and serve are actually the problem would be to admit that the criminal justice system in the United States needs to be reformed. And this, it seems, would be too much of a hassle.
And then the news broke about Chauvin’s conviction. The jury had revealed their verdict around 4pm CT, which was 11pm for me. I had woken up in the middle of the night between April 20th and 21st in Amsterdam; it seems my body acted on my desire to know the results before my mind did. I hurriedly got up to grab my phone and saw an email from NowThis: “Breaking: Derek Chauvin found guilty of murder.” On all three counts.
There it was! I couldn’t hold back my emotion. I wanted to call everyone who might be awake. I wanted to dance. I wanted to scream (I decided against it since my roommate was sleeping soundly on the other side of the wall). Instead, I cried. The tears were a culmination of emotions: I relived the fear, the anger, and the hope. And then came elation, relief, and compassion for George Floyd’s family and the entire Black community in the United States.
The moment felt victorious. I imagined the crowds that must have been cheering, laughing, and crying; outside the courthouse, in their homes; hugging their loved ones, thanking their God or Gods or the universe; dancing and singing, twisting and shouting; an unabashed and much-deserved expression of Black joy. I could feel that joy reverberating throughout the country and the world, traveling 4,000 miles (6.5 thousand kilometers) into my heart and out of my tear ducts.
And then, suddenly, the joy subsided. It wasn’t altogether gone but it intermingled with a fresh gust of reality. A murderer had been held accountable for his actions, but that should have been the bare minimum. It was momentous, it was victorious, it was worthy of celebration. But it should have been a given. The trial over George Floyd’s murder was one case that went in the right direction, but it was one case, and it never should have happened in the first place.
Justice would be if George Floyd was still alive; if his brother, his daughter, his girlfriend could still hold him in their arms. Justice would be a judicial system that does not disproportionately target Black people. Justice would be a world that humanizes Black folx and all people of color; a world in which Black Lives Matter. Justice would be implementing a form of protecting and serving our communities that does not allow agents to murder people for using an alleged counterfeit bill; for resisting arrest; for having mental health issues; for sleeping in a drive-through lane; for using drugs; for driving while Black; for selling cigarettes; for going out for a jog; for sleeping in their own home; for existing in their skin.
The mere fact that this outcome felt victorious shines a light on the shortcomings of our system. It has taken a year for any kind of accountability, and during that year the Black community and its allies have been holding our breath. “Today, we are able to breathe again,” said Philonise Floyd, George Floyd’s brother on the day of Chauvin’s conviction. He also said, “'We have to keep protesting. I’m not just fighting for George any more, but for everyone.”
That is because killings of Black folx and people of color by police did not stop after George Floyd’s killing sparked worldwide protests. They did not stop while Derek Chauvin was on trial for his murder. The murders of 13-year-old Adam Toledo and 20-year-old Daunte Wright were two horrific examples of that. Ma’Khia Bryant, a 16-year-old Black girl, was also killed by a police officer, just before the verdict was read. And in the days since the verdict was announced, they have not stopped.
In the year since George Floyd was murdered, there have been many shootings and killings of Black folx and other people of color by police; far too many than I can go into in this short piece.
If you want to know more about the violence that has taken place, here is a timeline of police shootings that sparked protests in the Black Lives Matter movement; here is a report on the number of Black people killed since Floyd’s death, as well as an article on the killings that have occured during the trial; and here is a description of the 6 police shootings that occurred in the 24 hours after the verdict, as well as an article explaining that shootings have disproportionately grown since the verdict.
Statements in reference to the verdict have been varied, and certain organizations were more vocal about how allies of the Black community should be responding.
The Floyd family’s attorney, Benjamin Crump, called the verdict a “turning point in history [that] sends a clear message on the need for accountability of law enforcement.” It was uplifting to hear that it only took the jury 10 hours to come to a verdict, with one juror calling the decision a “no-brainer.”
It does feel like a turning point because this has been the most publicized, covered, impactful instance of the killing of a Black person by police in the U.S. Not to mention, the conviction of the police officer on trial feels like an anomaly. The movement that this event sparked is bigger and more widely witnessed than others under the Black Lives Matter umbrella, and I have hope that it will make a difference going forward. But the key part of that statement is “going forward.” This is only the beginning, and we have a lot of work to do.
Minneapolis Mayor Jacob Frey responded with candid commentary:
"That there will be Black Minneapolis residents and Minnesotans left stunned, suspended in disbelief that the jury actually delivered this moment for George Floyd — that reality speaks volumes to the trauma our society has inflicted both quietly and overtly.”
The ACLU’s statement argued that “we must renew our conviction to create a world where police do not have the opportunity to use violence and harassment to target Black people as police have been doing since their inception as slave patrols created to monitor, control, and oppress Black communities. This new world includes removing police entirely from low-level enforcement and massively reinvesting in the communities that desperately want more for the legacies of their fallen. And we will fight with them to get there.”
The American Psychological Association expressed that “while many people feel relief at this verdict, it is telling that we live in a nation where a verdict like this would ever be in question. This case’s conclusion does not eliminate the deeply rooted inequities that exist in our country and the racism and unconscious bias that permeate our structures and systems.”
The Bail Project reminded us that “at the heart of this injustice is not only the actions of one police officer but an entire system of policing that terrorizes and devalues the lives of Black and Brown people in America. George Floyd’s death catalyzed a long-overdue reckoning with our nation’s history of racial violence and the urgent need for police reform and accountability.”
President Joe Biden urged us not to let the movement end here: “This is the time for this country to come together, to unite as Americans…We must not turn away. We can’t turn away. We have a chance to begin to change the trajectory in this country.”
This conviction is only the beginning. So where do we begin?
As a white person, and particularly as a white person from the United State, I felt the need to better understand my role as an ally during this celebratory, yet precarious, time.
It is not the responsibility of the Black community to educate us or to tell us how we should be feeling, thinking, and acting at this time. It is our own responsibility as allies to hold space for their grief and their celebration, and to continue in our efforts of anti-racism.
A sign at George Floyd square puts it best.
Of course, this sign received backlash throughout the Twitter community.
In response to this, I would argue that Black folx have received instructions on how to behave since colonization, and this sign might just be the very first set of instructions for white people ever made. White privilege means that whatever struggles or hardships you face in life are not caused by your race, which gives white people a leg up in our society. This means that any effort to amplify Black voices and dim white ones is merely an attempt to even the scale, and even then we have a lot further to go.
We should be receiving these respectful instructions with grace, gratitude, and privilege. I feel lucky that members of the Black community took the time out of their day to type up this sign. It wasn’t their responsibility to do so, but it was extremely helpful to me in understanding how I can best act as an ally during this time.
If you are a white person reading this sign and you felt offended, restricted, or chastised, now would be a good moment to check your privilege. And I say that with all of the kindness and understanding in the world. We will never get anywhere if we don’t continue to educate ourselves, to understand where our biases and perceptions of society come from, and to have patience for those who are still struggling to do either or both of these.
If you’re just starting out your privilege-checking and anti-racism journey, or if you need a refresher (which we all do every now and then), here are some great books that might be helpful:
Antagonist, Advocates and Allies
And once you’ve gotten a better grasp on how your whiteness grants you privileges in our society, you might be ready for this one…
Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People About Race
And, if you can, check to see if any of these are available at your local bookstore before buying on Amazon. Support local businesses! Better yet, check if there is a Black-owned bookstore near you.
Educate yourself and support in any way that you can because there has been no rest for the Black Community and its allies.
Less than 48 hours after the verdict was announced, hundreds gathered in Columbus, Ohio on April 22nd to protest the aforementioned killing of 16-year-old Ma’Khia Bryant.
This was nothing new, as just days earlier on April 17th, hundreds of people gathered in Chicago, Illinois to protest the police killing of 13-year-old Adam Toledo.
Around the same time, protesters in Minneapolis, Minnesota (where Floyd was killed) marched against the police killing of 20-year-old Daunte Wright.
The headlines seem to echo each other: “Hundreds gather in protest of police killing of Black girl;” “Protestors march against police killing of Latino boy;” “Black man murdered by police and protesters take to the streets.”
To some of us, this may appear redundant. A Black person or person of color is murdered by police and yet again, we take to the streets, and the police fight back.
“Police told to scale back tactics in Daunte Wright protests, but violence continues.”
Every single one of these protests involved violent response by police and arrests of multiple protestors. The irony is not lost on us as those who march are assaulted, mamed, tear-gassed, dehumanized, and all-too-often killed at the hands of the same police officers who are supposed to “protect and serve,” the very police officers whose violent tendencies and abuse of power they are marching to put an end to.
So why do we keep marching when the murders, headlines, and protest-backlash feel cyclical?
Because protesting works.
Councilmember Kshama Sawant’s response to the Chauvin trial verdict reminds us why we continue to protest: “We should be crystal clear that this verdict is entirely due to the Black Lives Matter protests last summer, which became the largest protest movement in American history. It is a testament to the power of mass action with multiracial, working-class solidarity.
Protesting works so well that some states are attempting to ban it.
While the protests against police brutality continued on during the Chauvin trial, Florida Republican Governor Ron DeSantis was set to sign the state’s “anti-riot” bill that was pushed by Republicans in response to last summer’s Black Lives Matter uprising. The worst offenders of this bill include barring local government from cutting police funding without state approval and “[increasing] penalties for existing crimes committed during a violent assembly…[for example] destroying monuments and historic property, the consequences of which include of a 2nd-degree felony and paying restitution for the repairing or replacing of the memorial.”
To suppress the freedom of public protest, a basic First Amendment constitutional right, is - I recognize the irony of using this term against the Republicans and right-wing members who often use it - “Un-American.”
On April 19th, Governor DeSantis signed the Florida anti-riot bill into law. As horrendous as this bill is, I choose to see it for what it symbolizes. This law serves as a reminder protesting is the greatest power that the general public has. Protesting got us to the rightful verdict in the Chauvin trial. A government that attempts to silence the public is simply afraid that our actions will lead to systematic change that dilutes the overarching power which our white-supremasist patriarchy allows it to hold. Because, guess what? Our actions are already leading to systematic change.
In Washington state, the senate recently revised and passed SB 5066. This bill enforces intervention by police officers if they witness a fellow officer using “excessive force.” The bill is currently awaiting Governor Jay Inslee’s signature.
If you’re still on the fence about making changes to the policing and criminal justice system in the United States (if you’ve gotten this far, you most likely aren’t, and, thus, should share this with someone who is), something to keep in mind is this: violence against Black folx and people of color affect us all.
Don’t believe me? For one thing, an inquiry into US police brutality by leading human rights lawyers has found that systematic violence and killing of Black Americans amount to “crimes against humanity that should be investigated and prosecuted under international law.”
Following the Chauvin trial, human rights experts from around the globe “hold the US accountable for what they say is a long history of violations of international law that rise in some cases to the level of crimes against humanity.”
So, there you go. In the words of the Floyd family’s attorney, Benjamin Crump, "Justice for Black America is justice for all of America".
In the meantime, here are some links you can use for donating to organizations that are constantly fighting to protect the rights of Black folx, create equity within the criminal justice system, hold police officers accountable, and help Black folx and people of color who need it now:
A list of bail funds in the U.S. by state
National Police Accountability Project
